fierceness and
determination. Her eyes glowed, and her nostrils trembled with disdain
and indignation. As they drew back,--the old man sullenly, the gambler
with a slight gesture of impatience,--she came a step nearer to them
and waited, the cords of her shapely throat swelling with excitement.
A moment so, and then she said in a tone that suggested menace,
determination:

"You have poisoned him. Tell me the truth. Do you hear, father--the
truth, or I will hate you. I will make you repent it till you die."

"But--" Pierre began.

She interrupted him. "Do not speak, Pretty Pierre. You are a devil. You
will lie. Father--!" She waited. "What difference does it make to you,
Jen?" "What difference--what difference to me? That you should be a
murderer?"

"But that is not so, that is a dream of yours, Ma'm'selle," said Pierre.

She turned to her father again. "Father, will you tell the truth to me?
I warn you it will be better for you both."

The old man's brow was sullen, and his lips were twitching nervously.
"You care more for him than you do for your own flesh and blood, Jen.
There's nothing to get mad about like that. I'll tell you when he's
gone. ... Let's--let's wake him," he added, nervously.

He stooped down and lifted the sleeping man to a sitting posture. Pierre
assisted him.

Jen saw that the half-breed believed Sergeant Tom could be wakened, and
her fear diminished slightly, if her indignation did not. They lifted
the soldier to his feet. Pierre pressed the point of a pin deep into
his arm. Jen started forward, woman-like, to check the action, but drew
back, for she saw heroic measures might be necessary to bring him to
consciousness. But, nevertheless, her anger broke bounds, and she said:
"Cowards--cowards! What spite made you do this?"

"Damnation, Jen," said the father, "you'll hector me till I make you
sorry. What's this Irish policeman to you? What's he beside your own
flesh and blood, I say again."

"Why does my own flesh and blood do such wicked tricks to an Irish
soldier? Why does it give poison to an Irish soldier?"

"Poison, Jen? You needn't speak so ghost-like. It was only a dose of
laudanum; not enough to kill him. Ask Pierre."

Inwardly she believed him, and said a Thank-God to herself, but to the
half-breed she remarked: "Yes, ask Pierre--you are behind all this!
It is some evil scheme of yours. Why did you do it? Tell the truth for
once." Her eyes swam angrily with Pierre's.

Pierr